


That's What We Do

by Flyting



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Classic Kylux, Crying, Drunken Confessions, Drunkenness, Hux is not paid enough for this, M/M, Post TLJ, Sass, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-24 04:40:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13206177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flyting/pseuds/Flyting
Summary: Mission objective: get Ren to his quarters quickly and without anyone noticing that their new Supreme Leader was drunk off his arse.Surely Hux does not get paid enough for this.Or, Kylo deals with his emotions in the classic Solo way. Luckily General Hux is there to cover for him.





	That's What We Do

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Именно этим мы и занимаемся](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13498400) by [Hux_and_Ren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hux_and_Ren/pseuds/Hux_and_Ren), [perfection_8](https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfection_8/pseuds/perfection_8)



Hux finds him in the audience chamber.

They’ve retreated back to the Finalizer after that cock-up on Crait, their new Supreme Leader shouting at anyone within earshot that he wasn’t to be disturbed. They’ve managed to rout the Resistance, reduced them to a group small enough to cram inside a single junk freighter, but the sheer fact that any of them survived at all when he had the number, the ships, the opportunity to reduce them to nothing. It was... sloppy. Poor form, given the resources expended. The _casualties_.

The waste of it galls at him, nagging like the sharp edge of the tooth that he’d chipped when Ren threw him into that damn console. He keeps running his tongue over it.

They would have to do better. And so, Hux takes his life into his own hands.

“Supreme leader,” the words stick behind his teeth and have to be forced out, “We need to discuss our next move. The galaxy is watching to see what you will do next.”

No response except the faint echo of his own voice.

Ren wasn’t here.  
  
Hux had expected to find him lounging on his throne, relishing his stolen power. ( _That ten-stone scavenger girl killed my master Snoke and oh dear I just couldn’t stop her_ his arse.) It’s what he would have done, anyway.

He pauses. Glances around the audience chamber for good measure. It isn’t as grand as the one on Starkiller Base, but it’s dark and suitably ominous all the same. Snoke had a very particular aesthetic.

“Ren?” _This isn’t the time to play hide and seek you overgrown child, if you leap out of the darkness at me I swear to the maker I’m going to punch you in the face and claim it was an accident-_

And there- a faint sinusy sound, like a cough or maybe a snort.

“Supreme Leader Ren?” Hux tries again, trying to layer honey over the words and only succeeding in making them sticky.

Another sound, this one closer to a sob.

He approaches the low dais holding the empty throne, the sound of his own boots on durasteel echoing around the empty room. Zeroing in on the sound, Hux finds him.

The Supreme Leader is sitting on his arse on the floor, wedged into the little corner between the throne and the wall immediately behind it. He’s got one long leg sprawled across the floor, the other drawn up so that he can rest his head on his knee.

Ren makes another wet sound and Hux realizes he’s crying.

“Get up,” Hux says, flat.

Ren mutters something that sounds like _fuck you_.

“This is unseemly. Get up.”

Ren laughs, a weak, throaty sound. “You don’ get to tell me to... what to do, Hu-cks.”

He’s slurring. Swaying a little where he sits.

Drunk.

“You are embarrassing yourself-”

“I’m Supreme Leader now.” Ren continues loudly, not listening, before mumbling into his knee, “No- nobody getss tell me... what to do.”

“Yes, you are.” Tension is building in the hinge of his jaw. If anyone saw Ren like this the First Order would be a laughingstock. Their Supreme Leader drunk and pathetic, crying over his failures- all of high command would be a _joke_. “And right now you’re a disgrace. Go to bed, Ren.”

Ren growls and waves an arm and there’s a momentary surge of adrenaline- of _fear_ \- but all that happens is a light pressure, like somebody had bumped into him in a crowd. Ren glares up at him myopically, eyes red and unfocused, and waves again. Sloppy. Uncoordinated.

Another bump. Hux rocks back a half-step.

“F-fuck you, Hux-” Ren buries his face in his knee again, hugging both arms around his bent leg.

Hux pinches the bridge of his nose in one gloved hand.

_He could have been an engineer. The pay was decent. More leisure time-_

_Far less opportunity to rule the galaxy. Damn._

He takes a deep breath and sighs it out. “Alright, Supreme Leader. We are getting you to bed, that’s the ticket.” _And if Ren doesn’t think he’s demanding the Grand Marshal title for this, he’s a fool._ Firm, but cajoling. It’s a tone he hasn’t used since the Academy and early mornings spent coaxing drunken roommates back into their bunks before morning roll. Why did he always end up the designated driver?

Ren protests, whining like a child, when Hux lifts his arm and slings it over his own shoulder. “Up we go, that’s right-” He nearly overbalances, swinging hard to the side when he attempts to heft Ren’s weight. Something in his back makes a worrying crunching sound. _Fuck, it’s like trying to deadlift a black hole._ “Ren, your legs- legs- _stand up_ , Ren-” he snarls, stumbling and nearly going down, before Ren gets his feet under him and collapses heavily against Hux’s side. He’s warm and clammy, reeking of sweat and ozone, and under that something cloyingly sweet. Cheap wine.

Right. Mission objective: get Ren to his quarters quickly and without anyone noticing that their new Supreme Leader was drunk off his arse.

A bottle clatters and skitters away across the polished black floor when Hux stumbles into it. “Very good. This way, Supreme Leader.”

It’s no use, he still can’t make the words sound sincere.

Ren staggers along with him, leaning heavily on Hux’s shoulder. They pause at the door, and Hux wedges Ren against a wall to fish his comm out of the pocket of his coat. He’s never believed in doing things the difficult way if it can be avoided.

“Captain Tripp,” he barks.

“Yes, General?”

“Clear the halls in thresh sector, decks eleven through fourteen. Absolutely all personnel on lockdown. The Supreme Leader is heading to his quarters.” Threading a bit of casual exasperation into his voice, he adds, “He’s in a mood again. I’d rather not have any more casualties today.”

“Understood, sir. I’ll see to it.”

Kylo Ren’s tantrums were legendary on the Finalizer. This wasn’t the first time Hux had turned them to his favor.

He waits for five minutes, long enough for Tripp to evacuate everyone out of their path. Ren is slumped heavily against the wall, like the idea of standing unaided is far too difficult.

“What...” Ren says, carefully pronouncing the word. He’s struggling to keep both eyes open and focused on Hux at the same time. “Are you looking at? Hmm?”

“Nothing.”

Ren snorts, loud and obnoxious. “Right, right, right, right... _nothing_. That’s right, you and everybody- everybody else. That’s what you all... see... well fuck you.”

Hux purses his lips. “How much did you drink, anyway?”

A shrug and a querulous noise.

He resists rolling his eyes, but only barely. “Come on, Ren.” Hux gets Ren’s gangling arm over his shoulder again and steers him towards the door and out into the hall. It’s a little like piloting a freighter with the controls inverted and the thrusters misfiring. Hux brackets one arm low around Ren’s hip, to keep him from slipping to the opposite side.

He doesn’t get paid nearly enough for this.

“Never- not supposed to drunk. Before.” And oh charming, he’s reached the drunken rambling state. Ren puts on a deep nagging tone like he’s imitating someone. “ Not allowed, never- that’s not control, have to be in control- not ever, ever... not in control. But... fuck it. I’m Supreme Leader now, who fucking cares. No more fucking aesthetic...”

Hux pauses, “Ascetic?”

“That, yeah. Whatever. _Fuck it!_ I’ll be drink if- if I want to.” He stumbles heavily into Hux, knocking him a half-step to the side. _“Who’s gonna stop me...? Hmm?_ ”

 _“Lower your voice!”_ Hux hisses, as he half-shoves, half-drops Ren into the turbolift with a grunt. “The doors are shut, but they aren’t bloody soundproof!”

“I _don’t care_ -” he enunciates, gearing up for a shout.

“Well I do!” Hux slams his gloved palm against the button for floor 17. The door slides shut and the lift engages with a quiet rush of air. Executive residential quarters were all on the same block. Ren’s room on the Finalizer was only a few doors down from Hux’s own. He rounds on Ren. “If you want to be Supreme Leader then you need to start bloody acting like it. You represent more than just yourself. That’s what power means. It isn’t doing whatever the seven hells you want, just because you want to do them.”

“Don’t tell me- you have no idea what power is-”

“I know what responsibility is. You think I’m dragging your sorry carcass to bed because I want to? I’m doing it because it’s my duty, something you have probably never done a day in your life! I would love the freedom to run around smashing everything when I’m angry, or wallowing in my misery, except I don’t have the time. You aren’t the only one who’s had a _bad day_ , Ren.”

The lift is silent except for the soft sound of decks passing them by.

Ren’s chin crumples. His plush lips tremble, and to Hux’s mortification he bursts into tears.

“Stop that... Stop that at once,” Hux says, alarmed. Ren cries like a little boy, bawling fat messy tears, as he slips down the wall to collapse on the floor again. Hux pounds the emergency stop.

“You hate me. I don’t... why does everyone...” the words are lost under choking sobs. Ren buries his face in his knees again.

“Ren,” Hux groans. Why was this happening to him?

“Go- just- fucking go- everyone else does.” Ren sniffs loudly. “I don’t care...”

“Please get up. Please?”

No response. _Grand Marshal Hux_ , he thinks to himself.

Wait- what was it Brendol always said when he was upset as a child? It had usually done the trick. There, “If you don’t stop crying, I’m going to hit you.”

“Fuck you.”

After a long moment of standing there awkwardly, tapping his boot while his supreme leader sobbed brokenly into his own robes, Hux sinks down to the floor and sits beside Ren, back to the wall.

“Ren, I don’t _hate_ -” No, that was too obviously a lie. He changes tactics, tries for a playful tone, “Oh come on- we hate each other. That’s what we do, isn’t it? You throw me into a wall, I try to shoot you when your back is turned? That’s... that’s our thing isn’t it? Hmm?”

“I don’t hate you.”

“What?”

“I don’t hate you,” Ren repeats, quietly. There’s a hollow edge to his voice, like the echo in an empty room. “You’re the closest thing I have to a friend.”

“Ren...”

They sit there in silence, until finally Ren says, “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” and with a last, loud sniff, pushes himself up off the floor. He smashes the button for floor 17 again, still a little clumsy with drunkenness, and leans back against the wall. Closes his eyes. Under his dark lashes, there’s still a faint glimmer of wetness.

“S'fine, I can do it by myself,” Ren complains when the lift stops on their floor and Hux moves to sling Ren’s arm back over his shoulders.

“It’s alright,” Hux brushes the protest off. “Nearly there, anyway.”

He helps Ren down the residential hall, ignoring the way Ren sags against his side in something that might be relief, stopping at his door and allowing Ren to key in his security code. Hux notices, for the first time, that one of his gloves is missing.

Once they’re inside and the door slides shut behind them, Hux helps Ren through the nearly-empty living area into the bedroom. He knows the layout- it’s identical to his own. Only where Hux had placed a couch, a table, comforts, Ren has nothing but empty space.

He drops Ren onto the only piece of furniture in the suite- a low, simple bed.

“Here we are. Get some rest, Ren.” Hux says, brisk, as if that little exchange in the turbolift never happened. On the bed, Ren curls over on his side, facing away from Hux.

“There’s a holoconference with the security council at seven-hundred. Don’t worry about it- I’ll take care of it. ”

“Thanks.” Ren sounds half-asleep already. Or perhaps he’s going to cry again.

“You’ll need to make an appearance at the banking consortium gala next week, though. They’ll all want to see the new Supreme Leader, after Crait. Between that and the Starkiller weapon I think we sent quite a message.” He attempts a wan smile.

“Mmhmm.”

Hux hovers.

“Well at least take off your boots- do I have to do everything?” Hux _tchs_ , but without any particular venom, before kneeling beside the bed, fingers going to the fastenings of Ren’s heavy boots. When he’s tugged each one off, Ren curls his socked feet up close to his body like a child.

A glance at his face reveals that he’s asleep.

Sighing, Hux shrugs out of his greatcoat and tosses it over Ren’s shoulders where the idiot has fallen asleep on top of the blankets. “All hail, the Supreme Leader,” he says wryly to himself. 

Before turning to leave, he dials the lights down to five percent.


End file.
